Page 145 of Meet Me at the Metro

The name she has for me has every ounce of my composure crumbling.

I exhale deeply. “You promise me you’ll handle this to the best of your ability? That you’ll help me keep her safe.”

Kim nods somberly. “To the best of my abilities, I will handle it.”

My thoughts are scrambled, and as I glance toward the closed door of her office and remember who’s waiting inside, I don’t feel the slightest bit settled.

Nora’s neck is still marred with red streaks, and I can’t blink away the image scorched in my mind of him on top of her. Her hands and fingers tremble as I grab ahold of them and lead us to a secluded, dark corner of the administration office nearby—offering us a moment of solitude.

I keep my voice at a whisper for her sake. “I don’t feel right about this, baby. What if I wouldn’t have gotten to you when I did?”

“You did, though.”

“But what if I didn’t? He would have—fuck,Nora,” I wince. “I can’t even say it.”

“Theo, I am begging you. Please do not make us go to the police.”

“You’re killing me,” I groan. “I wish, for once, you would stop worrying about everyone else and prioritize yourself. You deserve that.”

“Kim said she would help, and her way will keep you out of trouble. That’s what I want, Theo. I want you out of trouble. I want to finish out this school year with you by my side. So this is me prioritizing myself, alright?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Please. I just want to go home. Please, let her handle it for now and take me home.”

Kim’s head carefully peeks around the corner. “I’ll get it handled, Theo. Take the poor girl home. I’d say she’s had enough trouble for tonight.”

The sound of a door opening in the distance has all of us startled, and my stepmum hurriedly pushes Connor and Harvey toward us.

“Go now,”she sternly orders, motioning the way out.

Connor, Harvey, and Nora file out the door swiftly, but I find myself halting in the doorway long enough to spare her a final glance.

“Tell him it’ll be worse the next time I see him.”

37

DIRTY, DIRTY SANTA

E L L I E

Time is always such a cruel, conniving thing when you’re seeking answers.

I’ve been an apprehensive, restless mess since theChicagoauditions nearly a month ago. In the past few weeks of December, I’ve been left to stew in my erratic thoughts, wondering if I blew all my chances of landing a role in the production. I’ve hoped and prayed that I haven’t. I need something to keep myself busy this spring. Need anything to keep my head from clouding with the fear John’s lured it into.

I blink and force those thoughts away. He doesn’t deserve a damn inch of my mind.

I remind myself of this as Connor and I make our way down the campus’s dated corridors. I distract myself with the golden-framed pictures lining its walls, admiring the depictions of pretty ballerinas in elegant tutus and the raw beauty of various musical instruments.

“You look nervous,” Connor says, nudging me back to reality.

“Because I am nervous.”

“Don’t be.”

“What if they didn’t even put me in the ensemble?”

“Then I’ll have something to say about it,” he smiles. “Seriously, Ellie, chin up. You’ve got a natural charm when you perform, slip-ups aside. They saw that.”

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